


Pumpkin Pie

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [21]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron hosts Thanksgiving, and Kirsten tries to help. Or: Cameron is a control freak and everyone eats too many mashed potatoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pumpkin Pie

“Lightly! I said baste it lightly!” Cameron squawks, snatching the baster out of Kirsten’s hand. She rolls her eyes.

“Why did you even agree to let me help you?” She asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You haven’t let me do one thing in the past two hours.”

He pushes up his glasses, which are sliding down his nose.

“I just-there’s a particular way I like things done.” He says defensively.

“What you mean,” Camille says, sneaking up behind them to snatch a carrot stick off the counter. “-is that you’re a total control freak.” She bites off a piece, crunching loudly. Cameron folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m _not_ a control freak-”

“Dude.” Linus comes up behind Camille, opening his mouth. Camille pops the other half of her carrot stick into it. He finishes it, then shakes his head. “You are _so_ a control freak. I will never forget the great Easter disaster of ’14.”

Kirsten raises an eyebrow.

“Do tell.” Camille prompts him. He grins at Cameron, who shoots him a dirty look.

“It wasn’t a disaster, and I _told_ you the ham was hot.” Cameron mutters. He doesn’t elaborate, and neither does Linus. Camille glances curiously between them, but when it becomes clear they aren’t going to finish the story she sighs, and heads back to the couch. Linus follows her.

“Should I just go sit in the living room with the other civilians?” Kirsten asks, watching Cameron baste the turkey ever so delicately. He glances over at her, frowning.

“No, you’re helping me.”

She makes a noise of disbelief.

“I’m not helping you, I’m watching you. Every time I try to touch something you take it away.” She picks up her glass of wine, taking a big gulp. Cameron’s frown deepens.

“I just-I like the company.” He shrugs. Kirsten’s face softens.

“How about I make the salad?” She offers. He hesitates, and she throws her hands in the air. “Fine. How about I sit here, drink my wine, and don’t touch anything.” She plops herself irritably down on one of the bar stools at the island. Cameron smiles sheepishly.

“Sounds good to me?” He says nervously. She sighs.

“Camille’s right. You’re a control freak.”

He opens his mouth to disagree, and Kirsten leans forward, stuffing a mushroom into it. He lets out a muffled sound of surprise, then chews, glaring at her.

“That was for the stuffing.” He mutters, when he’s done. She shrugs.

“I happen to know you have backup mushrooms, Gordon Ramsay.” She tells him. He raises an eyebrow.

“So you _do_ pay attention when we watch Hell’s Kitchen.” He grins. She throws another mushroom at him.

“The fact that you have backup mushrooms alone should really be enough evidence that you have serious issues.” She points out. He just resumes chopping them into perfectly even pieces, and adds them to the pan with the celery and onions. There’s no smell like stuffing cooking, and soon Kirsten’s stomach is growling with hunger.

In the end, he lets her make the mashed potatoes, only backing off when she threatens him with bodily harm in the form of the electric beaters. Camille and Linus set the table, and soon it’s completely covered with enough food for them and the rest of the NSA. None of them are particularly religious, so they don’t say grace, but Camille raises her glass in a toast.

“To making it through this year alive, doing something important, and being with family on Thanksgiving.” She says. They all know what this means to her, having been alone on most of her holidays, even as a kid.

“To family.” Cameron agrees, raising his glass. Linus and Kirsten follow suit, and they clink their glasses together.

“Man, this looks so good.” Linus groans, beginning to pile food onto his plate. Kirsten can only agree, despite still being annoyed at her lack of participation. But when Camille and Linus help themselves to seconds, and thirds of the mashed potatoes, she can’t help but smile.

“These potatoes are so good.” Camille mutters, mouth full. The salad Cameron wouldn’t let Kirsten prepare is still sitting half full, while the dish of potatoes has been wiped clean. She turns to him and grins, raising her glass and sipping smugly. He sticks his tongue out at her.

After dinner it’s decided that Camille and Linus will do the dishes, and Kirsten and Cameron take up their previous post on the couch.

Kirsten leans back, hand on her stomach.

“I’m so full.” She groans. It’s almost painful, like there just isn’t enough room in her abdomen to contain everything she ate.

“You probably ate too much mashed potatoes.” Cameron suggests. She snorts.

“Don’t be bitter.” She says, sighing, and props her feet up in his lap. They sit in silence for a while, dozing in and out of sleep to the sound of clinking dishes and Camille and Linus’s bickering.

Sometime later, Camille wakes them up to tell them that her and Linus are leaving. They’d meant to have dessert, two perfect pumpkin pies sitting ready on the counter, but none of them have room.

Kirsten is too sleepy to get up, so Cameron offers to drive her home later. As soon as the others are gone, they both fall into a deeper sleep, Kirsten migrating to his end of the couch and dropping her head on his chest.

She wakes up as the sun is just beginning to glow on the horizon, and is surprised to find herself ravenously hungry. Cameron finds her in the kitchen twenty minutes later, making her way through one of the pies.

“Are you seriously eating pie straight out of the dish at four in the morning?” He asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes. She hands him a fork. He takes it with a shrug, bumping his shoulder against hers as he digs into the other side of the pie. Between the two of them they finish almost half of it, and soon the sun is peeking over the skyline.

“There’s no point in taking you home now.” Cameron sighs, glancing at the clock. “I’ll take the couch.”

She leans over, brushing a crumb off his jaw with her thumb.

“Don’t be stupid.” She says, setting their forks in the sink. “We can share the bed.” He’s too tired to argue, so he just follows her into the bedroom, tugging off his jeans, and then unbuttoning his shirt, before climbing under the sheets. He rolls over as she does the same, only looking back at her once she’s safely under the covers. Even with all the sugar coursing through his veins, he can feel himself looming on the edge of the sleep.

“Cameron?” Kirsten’s voice pulls him out of his half-dream.

“Mmm?”

“Thanks for tonight.” She whispers. He opens his eyes, rolling back over to look at her.

“You don’t have to thank me, you helped.” He says. She shakes her head, eyes dark with something he can’t read.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just-It’s nice having family.” She murmurs. “So thanks.” His chest tightens, but in the best way. A chuckle escapes him, and she frowns. “What?”

“It’s just funny, you thanking me.” He explains. “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, Stretch.” He smiles softly, and she matches it.

“Goodnight, Cameron.” She yawns, closing her eyes. He resists the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her into his chest.

“Night, Pumpkin.”

She grins into the pillow.

They finish the pie for breakfast, and it’s a perfect day. By Christmas, they’re living together. By Easter, they’re engaged.

They get married on Thanksgiving.

 


End file.
